Close to You
by asesina
Summary: Wilson never particularly cared for House's singing, and House never really liked opening up about his problems. Ah, the joys of living together!


Just Like Me, They Long to Be… by asesina

a/n: oneshot. Set after "The Down Low". Just a little conversation.

Disclaimer: I don't own House (Mr. Shore does). I also don't own the Carpenters' lovely song "Close to You" (written by Burt Bacharach and Hal David).

Enjoy!

* * *

James Wilson stirred uncomfortably in his sleep, trying in vain to drown out that incessant buzzing noise that was bringing him closer and closer to the brink of consciousness.

As he was pulled from the bottomless darkness of his dead sleep, Wilson noticed that the buzzing was becoming increasingly melodic. It was almost like…

Someone was singing.

Wilson's eyes flew open and he immediately identified the source of his sudden onset insomnia.

House grinned like the Cheshire cat and continued to strum his acoustic guitar, singing along with the mellifluous voice on the old record player.

"_Why do birds suddenly appear every time you are near? Just like me, they long to be close to you."_

"What time is it?" Wilson muttered, rolling onto his side and pulling his pillow over his ears.

"Time to get up, Jimmy," House returned, flashing another wicked grin.

"I do not need to hear your voice first thing in the morning. You interrupted a wonderful dream," Wilson replied in a muffled voice.

"You can go back to your wet dreams about being whipped by Cuddy later. Why don't we have some coffee?" House suggested, pulling back the pillow to reveal Wilson's annoyed face.

"Just give me a minute. And please turn off that music. You just _can't _do a convincing Karen Carpenter, House," Wilson muttered.

House turned up the volume on the record player and cheerily sang along.

"_That is why all the girls in town follow you all around. Just like me, they long to be close to you…"_

"I don't care if Nora thought that we were gay because of the Carpenters album. I think that this song is just delightful," House said with a smirk as he slowly walked up to the kitchen counter and began preparing his coffee.

Wilson rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stretched as his eyes adjusted to the sunlight that flooded their blindingly bright apartment.

"House, why _are_ you up so early? This is a far cry from the sullen, moody person that sits across the table from me every morning," Wilson said as he pulled a mug from the cabinet and poured himself some coffee.

"I'm trying out a new look. How does the happiness suit me? Does it make me look fat?" House queried, raising an eyebrow at Wilson as he nonchalantly took a sip of his coffee and leaned against the counter.

Wilson rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Look, House. I could do without the singing, but I don't mind if you're happy. I just don't know where all of this cheeriness is coming from. I'm not exactly sure if you're even being honest with me right now," Wilson admitted, rubbing the back of his neck as he examined House's face for any sign of sarcasm.

"Well, I had no problem convincing Nora that I was jovial and gay, but you can apparently see right through me," House said as he took another sip of his coffee.

"If this is all a ruse to hide something that you're going through, it's not working. Singing Carpenters songs doesn't exactly make you into a ray of sunlight, House," Wilson replied, still studying House's expression for any sign of vulnerability or emotion.

House shifted his gaze away from Wilson and exhaled slowly.

"Stop trying to psychoanalyze me, Wilson. Just because Nora thinks we're gay doesn't mean that we have to have a heart-to-heart chat over tea and crumpets," House shot back.

Wilson noted that his tone was only half-heartedly sarcastic.

"Look, House, if you're still hurt about Cuddy," Wilson began.

"I said to drop it, Wilson," House said suddenly.

Wilson was taken aback by the sharpness of his tone.

"Fine. Suit yourself. I don't know how long this will last, anyway," Wilson replied briskly.

"How long what will last?" House asked coolly.

"This. Living here. I don't like being berated over breakfast just for showing a little concern for a friend," Wilson responded quietly.

He finished the last of his coffee and left the room to get ready for work.

House stood in silence for a few moments. He noticed that the record player was still playing softly in the background.

He slowly walked over to the record player and flicked it off just as the opening strains of "Baby, It's You" filled the room.

House absentmindedly cleaned up the kitchen as he carefully listened to Wilson getting ready for work in the adjacent room.

Wilson emerged from the bedroom about ten minutes later.

"I'm leaving for work, House," he called.

"Don't wait up," House said quietly.

"House, listen. I- I didn't mean to intrude before. Whatever you're going through is obviously your own business. If you want to talk about it, it's up to you. You know where I am," Wilson said. He waited for a reaction from House and pursed his lips when he didn't hear a reply.

"See you later," he said as he grabbed his suitcase and headed out the door.

"Wilson, I-," House began.

He lifted his eyes just as the door slammed behind Wilson.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, feeling the weight of the words in the empty room.

The End.


End file.
